The Legend of BlackEye Charlie
by Mulch Diggums
Summary: Everyone knows it's hard enough just trying to survive. Why does the world have to throw in all those complications?
1. Chapter 1

The Legend of Black-Eye Charlie

_There are many different legends of The Black-Eye. Almost as many stories and versions of stories as names that Charlie went by. Black-Eye Charlie, Charlie, The Black-Eye, the list goes on. Almost every kid could tell you a story or two. But there are only a few who know the true plot behind it._

_Charlie has almost as many stories as Jack Kelly. However, he appears in many of Black-Eye's, as is his way. Both of them were like that, they were legends. Legends in their own right, not just because of what they did._

_I doubt that Charlie enjoyed the attention as much as Jack did. It was in his nature, not The Black-Eye's. But I am drifting far off my subject. This is the true story of Charlie; Newsie, Pickpocket, general thief, and Queen of the Shiners. No, I do not misspeak. Charlie was a girl, but that is all part of the story…_

----

When you were a Shiner, days started in the wee hours. Charlie liked to get up early, and she didn't bother staying quiet to let you sleep. Once she was awake, everyone was awake. It was easy to get used to; most kids were awake as early as they were anyway.

All the Shiners started the day the same way. Charlie would wake everybody; they would all scrounge leftovers for breakfast. In the summer months, Charlie would insist on taking their precious soap, and all of them would wash their faces and necks in the river. Most of them hated it, but Charlie insisted. She said that most rich schmucks would pass by a dirty street kid selling something for a clean one.

There were seven of them all together. Charlie was the leader. She dressed like a boy, keeping her coarse hair short. She wore a once-white shirt, now faded to gray. Though it was old, it was clean and fairly free of holes. Her trousers were also faded, but brown, reaching almost to her ankles. She wore no shoes at the moment, although when she could find some she would wear them, if they fit no one else.

Tel was her lieutenant, as much as anyone was. He was high and gangly, the tallest of the bunch. His skin and hair were both dark, although the hair was much darker. He had never known his parents, but he felt that they were from an exotic eastern country, Egypt or Arabia perhaps. His full head of hair was wiry and wavy, almost curly, cut messily across his forehead. He wore a baggy shirt, one that made his skinny body seem to drown. His trousers were almost the same as Charlie's, only more frayed and care-worn.

Tobias McGee, more commonly called Toby or Shot Toby, was Tel's complete opposite. He was shorter even than the youngest of the gang, but didn't seem to resent it. Where Tel was grave, Toby was cheerful. Even in skin tone and hair color they were like photo negatives. His fair hair and freckled pale skin showed that Toby's parents had arrived from a cold, northern country. He earned the nickname Shot by proving that he could not only shoot a sling shot far and accurately, he was almost as good as Spot Conlon.

Fingers was the resident master pick-pocket. He was average looking, not tall or short; his hair couldn't decide if it was blonde or brown, lightening in the summer and darkening in the less sunny months. Fingers wasn't ever called by any other name, he never gave one. When the others talked of the parents they had known, he sat silent. In fact, he was silent most of the time. His face only lit up when he was teaching the others the art of his chosen trade.

Though Rosary Mike was the youngest, he was taller than Toby. He had deep red hair, which he didn't cut nearly often enough. His skin was almost never tan, though in the summer it did tend to burn if he wasn't careful. Rosary earned his name with the rosary he kept hung about his neck, a memento of a mother he'd all but forgotten. It was much too long for him, but he refused to part with it. His clothes were nearing replacement; they were much too small for him, showing his ankles and wrists.

Billy was only a few months older than Rosary, but he still enjoyed not being the littlest. In fact, he was almost as tall as Tel. Billy wasn't ever called by his given name, most used Whistle Fool instead. He tried in vain to get them to shorten it to Whistle Bill, but no one would draw on it. Other than tall, he was much like the rest of them, skinny but not starved, tan in the summer, less so in winter. He had earned the name Whistle Fool with a little penny whistle he hung around his neck. He could play that thing to within an inch of both his life and the poor whistle's, and still come out smiling and passing his cap around to whoever was appreciating his tunes.

Tiphat was the newest of them; he had been recruited by Charlie after she realized that her crew was uneven. Charlie had a strict policy about them going about all of their business in pairs. Except for her, of course. She was secretive in the day, coming back every night with loot or money or things to use around their house. Tiphat was polite to a fault, with curly brown hair. He could mimic just about anyone, changing his voice, tone, even mannerisms. He had been proclaimed a "good little kid" and welcomed into the family without question.

They all lived together in a rundown abandoned warehouse, near some docks. They gathered blankets and old newspapers to make beds for themselves, all circling the center of the room. The warehouse had run down so much that a part of the ceiling had fallen in, creating a modest nook just the perfect size for the seven of them. In the center of their nook, they had piled crates into a table that they ate off of every night.

---

After a breakfast that usually consisted of a roll or some such left over from their evening meal, they would all gather around the table. There, Charlie would assign them their positions for the day.

"Tel and Shot, you two get some papes and sell 'em. Here, get twenny and eat some lunch." She tossed them a few coins. "Fingers, Tiphat, you two go get us some hard cash. Maybe a few watches, I'll leave dat up to you." They nodded. "Whistle Fool, Rosary, lemme think… you two sell papes too. But get 'em from a different place and sell far from Tel an' Shot. Got it?" They all nodded. "Bring back your loot here. We'll divvy up and get dinner. Maybe if we can we'll get it from somewhere's nice."

Everyone scattered. Tel and Shot had to rush to get to a distribution office a few blocks away from Rosary Mike. Fingers pulled Tiphat along, looking for a place where they could stand without looking too conspicuous, but still finding someone worth stealing from. Black-Eye went to do whatever it was she did.

---

As soon as Whistle Fool and Rosary got in line for their papes, the reason for their gang's name of Shiners became obvious.

"Hey, lookit over here! A couple'a Shiners! Didn't we tell The Black-Eye to keep 'em off our street?"

The two young boys looked at each other, silently conversing for a few seconds.

"Whaddaya want, Smike?" Rosary posed the question, doing his best to sound older than his nine years.

"I was dere when Shoestring Mullins tol' you alls. Stay offa East Street!" Whistle looked up at this.

"Shoestring? What's he doin' tellin' Charlie anyting?" Smike, who looked twenty and had the brains of a five year old, spat on the ground. "Mullins leads de East Streeter's now. An' youse better clear off. Gettit?" Rosary and Whistle Fool glanced at each other.

"No," Whistle finally said, "I think youse need to 'xplain a bit clearer." With that, he and Rosary leapt on top of the much larger boy.

They had all learned from Charlie about fighting, both against groups and individuals. The trick was to attack, and attack without warning if they were being threatened. They learned to punch the more sensitive areas of the face (eyes and nose), how to make a fist (thumb on the outside if you didn't want it broken), and how to block punches. The two boys used this knowledge well, especially when the other East Street Newsies joined in. After almost ten minutes, the East Streeter's felt that the young Shiners had been punished enough, although many of them were just as badly beaten.

---

At the end of the day, they all gathered back in the warehouse. Tel and Shot Toby brought back fifty cents profit, ten of which was tips, as well as an almost new pair of shoes they had found in some rich shmuck's trash.

"We thought they'd fit ya Charlie," Tel said. "Winter's comin' on soon." She put them on, and found that they were perfect street size, a little too big. "Growin' room!" Shot exclaimed proudly. Charlie smiled thanks.

Not only did the younger two bring in a profit, they brought a report of other gang's movements. "Looks like Shoestring Mullins is rulin' the East Streeter's," Whistle Fool reported, "We had to knock some sense inta Smike when he went off on us Shiners." This made Charlie look up sharply. "Mullins is runnin' East Street?" Rosary Mike nodded.

"An' you took on Smike?" He nodded again.

"How bad did youse get hurt?"

"I got a out of action lip an' a shiner, Rosary got himself two shinin' eyes an' a busted up nose."

"How 'bout them udders?"

"Smike was pretty bad, we's both got to 'im foist ting off. One or two'a da udder 'Streeter's decided ta settle deir own debts den an' dere an' beat up each udder!" Everyone laughed.

Tiphat told them that the bulls were starting to get a bit suspicious of the Shiner Gang. "Had one stare at us near ten minutes before we finally left." They hadn't gotten much, although a very nice watch that they could sell at a place that Tel knew of was among their spoils.

After everyone had made their reports, they pooled the cash and trinkets they had picked up. All together they had enough for a good dinner and maybe something for dessert too.

---

**A/N:**

**Many thanks and much love to my beta, Wiley Card, who manages to fix my **_**horrible**_** grammer and points out when all my newsies look alike.**

**So? Like? Love? Wondering where Jack is yet? Don't worry, he's coming. This fic won't rely entirely on OC's, and **_**please**_** let me know if they get too Mary-Sue or Gary-Stu ish. Leave a review, please. **


	2. Chapter 2

The Legend Of Black-Eye Charlie

In Manhattan, two newsies, older than all of the Shiners, sat on the roof of a boarding house. Along with them was a former newsie, now learning the trade of running a boarding house from the owner of this one.

"Race, how old're you now?" Jack Kelly was for some reason obsessed with ages nowadays. Racetrack and Crutchy dismissed it as a phase.

"I'd say near seventeen about now, why?"

"Dunno. What about you, Crutch?"

"Well, maybe seventeen, maybe eighteen. I never kept real good track."

"How old're you, Cowboy?"

"Nineteen. Old enough to do lotsa stuff, I guess."

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Why're you all da sudden thinkin' about ages all da time?"

He shrugged an answer. "I guess cause my mudder was about my age when she had me. My dad was just a bit older." He paused for a long moment. Neither of his friends dared interrupt. Jack had never mentioned his father, his mother only twice that they had heard. "I was only ten when he killed 'er. I don' even remember why, I just know I was sittin' in de kitchen, eatin' dinner. He comes home, pulls a gun and shoots her right in de back. Never even looked at me. He shot her and went down ta da bar for a drink." Jack's eyes were in the past, watching every event of this period of his life again. "Da lan'lady hoid da noise, thought it was me playin', bein' a nuisance. She came up, I was just sittin' dere, starin' at my dead mudder. She called da bulls, dey axed me who did it, an' I said my dad. Dey axed what his name was, an' I told 'em." Here his tone turned bitter, he had almost forgotten that he was telling his tale to an audience; he was too far in his memories. "I told 'em his name, da one he gave me. Francis Sullivan." Jack spit the words out as if they had a bad taste. "I had ta use da same damn name he did. I didn't want ta have nothin' ta do with him, so I changed it. I knew my muddah's maiden name was Kelly, an' I liked Jack." He sighed. "I didn' know what to do, so I just started walkin'. I fell asleep on da step of dis boardin' house. Been here evah since."

The three boys sat in silence for a while, until an unspoken mutual agreement roused them all from their perches and got them to bed.

---

At the Shiner's hideout, another story was being told, a much happier one. Shot Toby was reenacting the earning of his name, with great dramatics.

"Well, dis was back 'bout a year ago. Just afta da strike, so da boroughs was interactin' more easily. I'd just become a Shiner, an' we was still lookin' for a place to stay. Somebody came up wid da genius idea to look in Brooklyn…"

_One year previously_

Charlie and her small band, four in all, walked quickly. They were all in a line, Tel leading and Charlie taking the rear. Toby McGee was only eleven years old, and had been inducted as a Shiner fairly recently. He was nervous; he'd heard stories about Brooklyn, stories from an older brother who had disappeared one day. Mamma had said that he'd gone out west somewhere.

As they trekked in the streets of New York, the light faded to a dim twilight. Toby reached to his back pocket for his sling-shot, fingering the well worn wood and soft leather rock pouch as if they could reassure him. The Shiner Gang, almost not a gang by size standards, had until recently stayed in a small alleyway, huddled together for heat and comfort. But another gang, one who Toby was unfamiliar with, being much bigger than the Shiners, had ousted them from the semi-warm spot. Winter was coming rapidly, gang leaders were determined to settle in one spot of territory before the winds and cold rushed in. It was an unspoken rule that territory wars only were fought in summer, or at the very most early fall.

Fingers walked in front of Toby, with his hands in his pocket. He looked nonchalant, but Toby was certain that he was as nervous as the rest of them. Peace between gangs or no, Brooklyn was still a dangerous place to be if you were not under the good graces of one of the leaders of a Brooklyn Gang. There were only three main gangs, and while Spot Conlon's was not the most powerful, it was as large as any two Manhattan Gangs. Not necessarily in number of people, but all of those newsies were at least fourteen, and much bigger then any of the Shiners.

Toby knew that if they were jumped it could be bad. He had his sling-shot, Charlie was a good a fighter as any, and Tel was almost as good. Toby also thought that the older, taller boy had a knife, but he wasn't sure. He looked again at Fingers. The quiet young man hadn't shown much interest in learning how to fight when Tel and Charlie took Toby aside, but that could be because he was already good. Toby shrugged. He felt that they could at least fight their way to safety if they really had to. Desperation tended to lend strength and speed to fighters, and it was a great weapon.

He felt again for the pouch of smallish stones he had tied to his belt loop. He hoped he could get to it quickly if the need arose.

Unexpectedly Tel stopped. He peered into a space between a crate and a wall, then nodded.

"Hello, boys. We don' want no trouble, just somewheres to sleep an' then we'll leave youse alone. Ya got my poisenal guarantee."

A form glided out from the shadows, followed by three other wraiths. If wraiths were the size of an ape, Toby thought, holding back a nervous gulp. Charlie came to the front of the small group.

"Ya gonna let us trou or we gotta go see Conlon? We ain't got all night, we's gotta get ourselves ta warm place ta sleep."

The tallest figure, the one who emerged first, seemed to consider.

"A'ight. We'll take youse ta Conlon, see dat ya get a good night sleep. In da morning he c'n figger dis out. C'mon."

The ragged band fell in with the three older newsies, darting through alleyways and scampering over rooftops. Toby knew that both Charlie and Tel would be memorizing their route, or at least doing their best to in the dark. They fairly flew through the dark, ending up standing in what was commonly referred to as "Conlon's Court".

Toby found himself surrounded by Brooklyn newsies, most holding sling-shots or clubs. The ones that didn't have weapons didn't need weapons, Toby mused, they _were_ weapons. Spot Conlon, easily the smallest of his crew, sat on a stack of three crates.

**A/N: I promise that the rest of the chapters will be longer, and filled with more content. This and the next chapter will have a lot of background content. Sorry. As always, let me know if the characters get too annoying. Thanks to my beta, Wiley Card!!**

**Also, I've changed the summary after seeing that it was not really all that good. I changed the rating to T for later swearing, nothing too bad. Now please people, reviews make me happy! Happy authors write better chapters!**


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